San Francisco and You Know What That Means
by xxsurgical-suicidexx
Summary: Older!SqueeNNY Finished
1. Chapter One: End to All Hopes and Dreams

San Francisco: And You Know What That Means  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Johnny or any of the other characters brought into this mess. If I did I would be torn up in ickle bickle pieces in a trash  
bag buried in my backyard.  
  
Chapter One: End to All Hopes and Dreams  
  
"I just know I'll love you forever," I tell you, resting my head in your lap; like a child and his mother. You are my mother in way-the mother of my new freedom. Freedom from you, this insane bloodlust that I now know could never be my own. Though the walls of my mind are stained with blood, there is countless white under all that blood.  
"I'm a new man you know," I tell you. Your smile is almost heartbreaking. You tell me that you know and that you love me too. God, earlier today you were even talking about what our kids would be named. Well we'll have one. It will be a boy and his name will be John. Your blood will serve as his afterbirth.  
You trust me. Jesus you trust me. After that night and your reaction to my phone call (which by the way was wholly moving and beautiful) I thought any kind of trust or respect from you was quite the impossibility. How clever am I? I have hidden this dagger you see here shining in your face in the mattress. Stabbed right into it, as I knew I would seduce you and have no means to hide such a weapon. Dammit you're not beautiful. You're cowardly and ugly. Your skinny face is stretched over impossible bones. I will be so glad when you're dead and that cheap make up rots off your face. I also hate your hair cut. It's stupid for a female.  
But grudged I still continue to look at you with love and admiration that only a school boy can accomplish. Did you not at one point say I reminded you of an angel? Ha! I'm only an angel to you if it means being present at your death and reading your book of life's woe and casting you into the fiery hell that you deserve.  
"My love, come back, I need you," I say as you start to edge to the door, so frightened. Like a frightened bunny. Hippity hop hippity hop. "BITCH!" I scream as you start tearing through your shitty apartment. I wish only I could have helped you replace the wallpaper before your timely end. It's a huge meat cleaver, not one of my usual smiley-face knives. Because that's it, that's the fuck of it: you're just meat to me.  
"Pin-cushion! Cum dumpster!" I shriek, pure glee rushing through me like when I was fucking you. Your taste still courses through my veins. I'll probably puke later. My hands, white spiders against your fair flesh clutch you to the wall. You're not as cocky as the first time; you little hemorrhage to my mind. You're frozen in fear, I can smell it. Because bitch I am a predator. "Come now Devi, be mine forever you do love me so," I laugh, "Let me bleed on the altar that is yours. Give me the fucking honor." You stay there, something....something like an ocean washes away your fear. You think this is some kind of sadomasochist thing don't you? It's only of the best sort baby.  
I slice my hand, right where the silver scar lays from where you bashed my arms into a mirror. My milky blood flows and though you seem to look eager, I am repulsed. I see your bloodlust and hope this will be the last time I must satisfy my own. Because dammit I am a monster, I draw out your darkest qualities. Yours in this case your full lips on my hand. But I'm stronger than you think. I clench my hand around your stupid mouth. That stale old fear enters the green gaze I used to be so fascinated with.  
God I'm really wishing to bust your skull right about now. The wall's right here, but I have more to say. "Oh what's the matter Goth baby? I thought this was the 'artsy' thing to do. Or am I wrong and this has gone out of style? Well they always told me I was an old-fashioned boy." I cut up and down your neck, to your collarbone and on your shoulders. Tears start to well up in my throat as I finish a little rose on your stomach. "I used to be an artist too. Y'know, with paint and all that-now I hope to get back to that." A look of appeal flashes across your face. I answer it, my hand still over your mouth, "No my love. You can't paint over this or what you did to me or the HELL YOU PUT ME THROUGH!"  
I let you up but not for long. The happiness is returning. I never want this beating to end. With every punch I put your frail body through I see every face of everyone who ever doubted me, those five year olds back in kindergarten who called me 'Noodle Boy', those assholes at the coffee shop, Tess who dared to mess with me and think she could outwit me, Jimmy who couldn't grasp this, Edgar who I want back so bad and Squee who's life is so fucked up.  
Blood is splashing all over my face, in my hair and mouth, between my legs and again I want you so bad. You take me in your arms, knowing you are close to death anyway. I kiss your bloody lips. You are gone and I am free. Free to be who I am. God I love you right now. I love the fact you're gone. I get up and put my clothes back on and just leave you there. Wait....I had my knife in my hand the whole time I was beating you. Jeez and I thought it was my pure and unadulterated male strength.... 


	2. Chapter Two: Foundations Blurred: This i...

I have but a few things to say in this minimally adequate author's note. Number one, it was sort of a white lie about the love part in the summary. The true love doesn't come until chapter three. This is just some rather obvious foreshadowing. Secondly if you think minor/adult slash is sick, then don't read this chapter or even this story. Just go away. Last but almost obscenely not least, you will notice there is drastic point of view change. It's Squeegee now. In my fic, he's about fifteen.  
  
Chapter Two  
  
Foundations Blurred: This is my deep oblivion. -Johnny  
  
I'm sitting on my front porch now. It's about one in the morning, Dad's inside. He's probably working or something. For a man who never leaves the house he works quite a bit. I don't know. I don't ask and he's not volunteering anything. God that ignorant fat woman's back. She has an entire heard of horrible little children, two about my age that look just like her. Apparently they've just broken parole; stupid drug addicts. She's screaming at them, one of them....the oldest: Billy seems to be enjoying it. Fuck his nose is bleeding and everything. No it must be the paint because if his mother had hit him than I would have been hit by a little piece of his skull right about now.  
What am I doing? Really....what the hell am I doing out here? Homework-right; 'write a poem about your happy place'. My happy place used to be Johnny's house. I didn't know it then, I was what-eight? The frightening part is that he provided me more of a father than my own did. He was the only guy I knew who would dismember a ten year old, if you gave him a logical reason like he called me bug-eyes or something. Johnny told me at one point he thought I was cute. Now that was a little strange, but what did you expect? He gave me the kid's collarbone.  
Thinking about him makes me incredibly sad. For two years I watched the news endlessly, but never if he did kill was he caught. I used to have horrible dreams about him getting the electric chair or how horrid it would be to watch him get a lethal injection and then I'd just wake up. I'd wake up and I'd wonder why I cared. He did nothing but land me in counseling.  
As for those dreams, I think I'm just really tired and halfway to sleep because I see him right now. He's got a knife through his pants or something. The black fabric of his jeans serves as a sheath for that retched thing. His tall rickety form is caught in a streetlight for just a moment. Johnny's face is unmistakable. Strong-set jaw, defined high cheekbones and coal black eyes stare out from underneath a tattered edge of black hair. Johnny walks with purpose as he always has. I find myself, Todd Casil wanting to run over to him. But what would I do after that? Damn what if he sees me? He would be almost thirty by now....  
Like an alpha wolf he surveys our neighborhood. It's funny, because his house was the crappiest on this street but after he left everything seemed to just deteriorate. He said something to me about being a waste lock before he left. Maybe when he was gone all the waste just sort of crept up on the rest of us. I hope he's back for good.  
I'm still watching him. Johnny seems to have stopped under the streetlight for the moment. He's looking at me. Jesus he's looking at me. I suspect to see that knife flying at my throat any moment because the old fear's back. The sounds of saws and screams reverberate through my mind and I start to shake. I can feel those eyes of moonless night watching me. I just put my chin in my hands and sniffing; watch him walk over as graceful as Jack Skellington from The Nightmare before Christmas.  
"Todd my god you're beautiful," was the first thing out of his mouth.  
I watch him in disbelief. I guess it shows. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that," Johnny says as he sits next to me. He had said it loudly enough so that the fat woman berating her sons could hear. I feel my face turn red to the tips of my ears. She just gives me and Johnny an odd look and ushers her boys inside. Good. I hate them anyhow.  
"Johnny it's all right. Who cares what people like that think?" I say to him. Johnny sort of half smiles. "What did you do the seven years you were gone?" I ask him softly.  
"I don't know. Wandered and tried to be like Mr. Samsa," he replies, looking as though the thought was painful. I can tell by his suddenly vacant expression he's holding something back. I can tell now that I study him more closely that the inside of his arms and hands are streaked with blood. So is his neck-hell even his lips are encrusted with it. I know he had gone away to lose himself and release himself from such bloodlust. I suddenly feel sick that the first thing Johnny did after he returned was kill somebody. I want him clean of that blood.  
"Todd-what're you doing?" Johnny asks as I come to nearer him, taking one his pale white hands in mine and running my thumb over his worn knuckles. I stick my tongue out first, just to taste him and see what another boy errrr, man is like. It's him who's yanking my head into such a violent position, kissing me deeply; a moan gathering in the back of his beleaguered throat. Quickly like a mountain lion snatching his cub back from the brink of a cliff, he slips his hand under my left thigh and pulled me onto his lap.  
I have my arms wrapped around his neck, just resting my face his in hair. The glossy black strands smell like sex. His tongue traces my ear and determinedly Johnny draws a hickey on my neck. I run my hands up his shirt and our eyes meet. It's then that I remember he's killed hundreds if a thousand. It's then that I wonder if this physical passion with a man twice my age is worth my life and pain. Also I remember that the last time he loved he tried to kill her. But maybe it will be different with me.  
"Johnny....I-I," I begin as I rest my head on his shoulder and he holds me gently around the waist. He looks at me and I can't read what he's thinking.  
"You look hurt, like I finally shoved that knife up through your mattress," he muses and then looks serious, "You still don't think that was funny do you?"  
I shake my head, "That's not the point. I....oh Jesus I can't do this...."  
He smirked and slid the knife out of his pants. Smiling liquidly he holds it to my throat, "Now you can." Johnny now has some level of childish satisfaction glinting in his pallid drawn face.  
"Do you love me?" I ask him, my eyes widening with fear. He just laughs and puts the knife away, "I could never hurt my little Squeegee. But I can't love you."  
Seeing my confused look he just elaborates, "I can't. It's not a function in me. If I loved you it would make me happy; lying in bed with you all fucking day, hearing your voice instead of the....others. Dammit I would be so happy. We would be so happy, because I take you love me. And it wouldn't last. I would die before you did. It wouldn't be fair to leave you all alone in this world."  
I am so scared of the look he's giving me. I just want to vomit his taste out of my mouth. The man had just murdered somebody, come to my doorstep and I was actually going along with this fantasy of being with him.  
"But then again....you do seem rather infatuated with me. Devi was too," he says menacingly. "She wanted me and she got me. I know how crushed you would be if I left you here, after that performance." The knife is still in his hand. Somewhere distantly I hear his laughter. I'm stunned. In one quick movement Johnny has his boot on my chest and I am flat on my porch. That damn knife is lingering over my head. It clatters finally to the porch and a look of utter despair crosses Johnny's cold blank stare. He prostrates himself against me, digging his erection into my inner thigh and cradling my head on his right arm as his strokes my messy flyaway hair.  
"Goddammit you're too fucking beautiful for this world. You're not like Devi. She didn't deserve to live. She was so damn phony hiding behind her easel and those ugly paintings. She really had no fucking taste," he whimpers into my chest finally. "But the world can't get to you. Tell me you won't let it get to you."  
"I won't let it get to me," I murmur.  
"Tell me again. Be strong when you say it. Don't break in tattered comments like me," Johnny cries more still to my T-shirt.  
"I won't let it get to me," I say a little louder. He just smiles and kisses me again. I know it will be the last time I ever see him because Johnny kisses me as if trying to memorize every part of my mouth, from my tongue to the back of my throat. Johnny is about a centimeter from my face and looks at me with those pitch black eyes; ironically probably appraising my mental stability. "This is my deep oblivion. This is what I've been looking for. Thank you Todd."  
He gets up after squeezing my hand and walks down our road again and leaves me to sit and wonder about myself and why I just made out with a thirty year old man who kills people. 


	3. Chapter Three: There's Still Today To Li...

Author's Note: I have unleashed the FIST on my prior chapter. (Hopefully) all tense mistakes are corrected. I usually always write in the past tense, so I'm giving present tense a shot if you haven't noticed that already. All you who replied you will not have the FIST unleashed on you for a year and a day. Enough of my babbling, let's get back to the tale. Wait-cause for more babbling has entered my mind in form of ANAL PROBE! Oh that's insulting, Stroke of Genius (my muse. I call her Soggy for short). I must also add that when I started this I had not originally intended it to be Nny/Todd, which would only be one small part. But Soggy and I talked it over. We decided on a good ending for this that couldn't be done any other way. Besides aren't they too cute together?  
  
Chapter Three: There's Still Today to Live Through  
  
Where am I now? I'm here in class. Never did get my 'happy place' poem written. I did write some poetry last night only it would just be too inappropriate for Ms. 'Douche Bag' Deutscher. I can't seem to get rid of all this nervous energy. I'm starting to get like that ADHD kid who won't stop poking me in biology. I want him to come back. I want him period. I can't help but think about over and over what the hell was going through his mind when I kissed him. Or he kissed me. I can't remember, but I know I started it. Is he thinking about me right now?  
"Umm excuse me," Brittany Quinn says turning around in her desk, her large overly made-up eyes staring me down. Usually I would incredibly meek around her. Her boyfriend is the largest slab of meat you've ever seen outside of a hunting shack where somebody's just killed a moose.  
But today the hell with her. "What?" I snap.  
"You're banging on my chair you perverted freak," she hisses. When she says that I'm just hoping she doesn't see my erection through my impossibly thin jeans. Damn, in this kind of situation pants should automatically morph into titanium. On second thought, that would very painful.  
I just glare at her until she turns around. I'm aware this mechanism is not very effective. It just makes her smirk her horribly twisted glittery face and turn around. Good enough. I sigh and raise my hand.  
"What Mr. Casil?" the Douche Bag asks with a raised eyebrow. I normally never speak in class. One guy once asked me if I belonged in Special Ed. I hate people.  
"Can I go to the bathroom?" I inquire impatiently.  
"Well I don't know about you're plumbing Mr. Casil but my educated guess is yes," she tells me, her wrinkled face contorting into a grin. Her teeth are yellow. It takes the rest of the class a minute before they get it and then they collectively chuckle. I just get up, take my stuff and go.  
  
Someone grabs me from behind, their hand like a meat grinder choking the last bit of blood out of some sausage. "What the hell?" I screech, panicking. "What the hell did I do?"  
Rough laughter issues from behind me. A sinewy soccer player named Ned (I think) steps out from his buddy's blind spot. I've yet to figure out who's clenching my neck and the spot behind my knee to hold me in the air. His pinched green eyes stare hard into mine. "You're that freaky little kid Billy said was making out with some dude on his front porch."  
"I was not!" I say, alarmed. God Johnny where are you? I implore this of nothing but my mind; which by the way is nothing but a flaming inferno. I have no idea what to do. I struggle against his grip finally, but lack of oxygen stings my ability to send direct signals of having a conniption to my body.  
"Well uhh...." the voice of my captor finally grumbled in my ear.  
"Shut up Arnie," Ned said. His eyes narrowed calculatingly, but I just think he was trying to remember their purpose for catching me. Light stings my eyes as they fling the gym doors open. Quickly and violently they hurl me onto the pavement, pebbles gathering in sharp little clumps in the thicker parts of my hands; one of my knees numb from the abrasion. Ned continues menacingly pacing around me. The angular boy reminds me of a vulture. I try to get up, but a heavy foot comes down hard on my back. I gather it is Arnie as his cleats dig into my spine. A few other guffawing jocks of various teams stream out like a pack of wildebeest. After counting all of his cohorts to make sure they are all here to witness whatever they plan Ned continues, "We're going to let a real pervert loose on you, you little poser queer."  
A chubby pimply boy a few years older than I am is shoved out into the rather tight circle they've created around us. "Go ahead, he's yours Winston." I guess I look rather frightened because he looks extremely tentative.  
"What?" Ned yells addressing Winston. "I thought just yesterday you said you wanted to get into the little freak's pants?"  
"I-I did. Todd I hope you're not mad," Winston says like I actually have the physical ability to beat the hell out of him this instant. For a moment we just look at each other. Winston is not my type and I'm probably not for him. He probably goes for other pink piggish boys.  
I just shake my head and stair at the ground, realizing that Arnie let me up because I'm kneeling. Winston is standing very near. In this sort of position it looks like I'm ready to give him head or something.  
Ned looks appalled at our silence, our lack of doing anything. Their show was canceled and it's the two queers' fault. "Ah fuck you guys," Ned growls grabbing me by my shirt collar, running me fast into the chain link fence. A stray piece of metal slashes just under my eyebrow, another splits my lip. That's not to mention his spindly hands clasping the already firm immoveable bruises Arnie inflicted. Roughly Ned turns me around, kneeing me in the groin. I double over, but not for long. I'm down on the ground again with a piece of glass grinding into the back of my arm.  
Fuck, I'm out of breath. Ned just hovers over me. He's the only one left. I suppose they took Winston inside to finish him off. Oh my god who the hell is that? The guy behind Ned is scarier and carries an actual weapon. "Johnny!" I can't help but say. Ned turns, bewildered. Murder is nothing new. This swift non-torturous one borders new. Nny grabs Ned by his longish auburn hair, wheels him around and stabs his knife straight into his Adam's apple. Granted the sound of metal clashing bone is somewhat disturbing along with the sudden gush of blood over his teeth and his tongue lolling out. Disgusted, Johnny drops the body of the soccer player and walks over to me and appears to be examining my injuries.  
"Todd?" he murmurs, his lips dangerously near mine.  
"Yes?" I say hopefully despite the pain.  
"Let's get the hell out of here. It would really damage the mood for me to get arrested," he says with his twisted grin firmly in place. 


	4. Chapter Four: Meanwhile: Purveyor of the...

Author's Note: It's been a rather long wait I know. But I've been out of time and inspiration for a while. Another drastic change of POV, no fluffy romance until chapter five I'm afraid. On a more personal note, I found that I needed a slight change from the NNY/SQUEE dynamic. But it's all back to them next chapter. OK that's all I'm telling! Just read!  
  
Chapter Four: Meanwhile: Purveyor of the Final Assessment  
  
"You wanted to see me father?" I ask looming in the doorway as is my wont.  
"Yes, yes son. Come in here," my father demands of me impatiently. As I do as told I can feel my usual arrogance drifting from my flesh as if a moist finger touched my skin.  
I'm standing before him, he at his desk and I swallow. I always get so nervous at these little 'meetings'. Usually-that's incorrect; more often than not they end in something ghastly. No you perverted twisted mortals; I was never raped by my father. My tasks are usually much worse and more physically, not mention emotionally demanding.  
"You are very close to seventeen," he tells me as if I do not know this. This greatly annoys me. He knows this but waves it away with a flutter of skeletal fingers. "I want you to collect your first soul for our fiery gates. Her name is Devi; she died at around thirty-perhaps a tad younger. You will go to her apartment with this," my father slides a slick black brief case out from under his desk. I attempt to hold it only with my unnaturally long fingernails; glad of the fact they hold strong. The valise is slick with chilling human carbon that I find no pleasure in touching. Mortals as soon as they lay hands to this (they are usually shoved inside) start to melt. This happens very slowly for the ride home. My father clears his throat, catching me staring at the thing. "I want her here no less than midnight."  
Uncharacteristically curious suddenly, I inquire, "How did she die father?"  
He smirks at me. I don't know how he manages to project a smirk with no lips but my father Satan-this he can manage. "A mad stabbing took her during sex Pepito. Don't even bother with the corpse, she apparently wasn't any good."  
This I find funny though being a necrophiliac is only an irritating stereotype. How I hate mortals. I nod, bowing slightly and turn on my heel out of the room.  
Upstairs my mother finds the need to question me. "Where are you going sweetie?"  
"Errand for father," I say with my air of charm back. I smile and get my cape for the chill drive over. Somehow I know where this Devi person lived. I know I'll find a carcass, yes of this 'sexual stabbing' but also her melancholy soul lingering. The saved go straight to their heaven. The damned have the added attraction of meeting their Satan, or in her case the son of him.  
I get into my car, cape strapped around my shoulders with heavy silver buckles and the case beside me in the passenger seat. The ignition starts to smoke as I turn the key. The car should have been warmed up. Otherwise the mechanism melts a little with my touch, especially in this fall air. But nevertheless I fly down the road, concern in me void for the passerby if not for the fact it would only mean side trips on the ride home. I tap my hand on the steering wheel while briefly stuck in traffic, starting to hope this would not make me late for an evening meeting with Magnus. I can already feel the other little demon in me getting stiffer.  
Well I see her shabby apartment that my innate demon sense brought me to. I can even feel my father guiding me and abruptly commanding I get my head out of my trousers. Not literally to clear this up for the perverts. Even the heir of Satan can't do that. If he could, he'd never leave his room. But that's entirely off the point.  
I'm climbing the stairs, clutching my valise. I probably look like some terrorist with his little black briefcase. I quickly find the apartment on the third floor, belonging to Devi and again I wonder about her. I wonder what she did to be condemned to hell. "Hello?" I say like some relative as I step in after melting the lock away.  
Sobs are all I hear. Now I know why. We always get stuck with the whiners. I skirt around the corner down to the doorway where I smell her body. All over the floor are blood and a discarded knife. Then of course the corpse lies with its head squashed behind the door. Whoever did this was in a perfectly jubilant mood as I sensed from standing beside the cadaver for a bit.  
Finally in the bathroom the sobs are traced. Devi screams at the sight of me. "He sent you, didn't he?!" she shrieks at me. This spirit is a mad one obviously from the violence of its death and this all too obvious reaction. Rolling my eyes I merely reply, "Yes I was sent by him if it will make this transition smoother." Devi looks at me questioningly eyes wide and translucent 'flesh' almost nonexistent in the surging bathroom light.  
"You are condemned to Hell," I tell her.  
"Why?" she whimpers in a ball.  
Because I said so bitch, is all I want to say. What I really reply is, "Fuck if I know. Get in this case." I forget she can still manipulate objects in this stage. Almost quicker than I move she rushed past me, a wind of cold water rushes over me and nearly puts out the eternal flame even the lowliest demons carry. She turns with the knife of her murder, endowments splayed to me along with the in time that are her bones pressing through split flesh and the still heart. "Get in the fucking case," I say menacing as I grab her by the throat. My power back from its momentary lapse, the spirit is on her knees and visibly fire x-rays her body, scorching intangible muscles and veins. Energy in the form of blood starts to drain until Devi is almost invisible, even more colorless than before. Quickly I bring a pointed finger from my right hand down her front, cutting her untouchable skin. Plasma cuts fall onto the floor and her body is shook by lightening like forms, splitting her body.  
Nobody questions Satan.  
And at this point I am Satan. "Now get into this valise."  
She mumbles uh-huh and complies, squeezing her bloody lumps of ghostly flesh inside. Devi even closes it in on herself with a dry click. Needless to say I discarded the cloak upon leaving the apartment complex and my car had transformed itself to my needs. Satan can't be caught. 


	5. Chapter Five: Hello Darkness My Old Frie...

Disclaimer: I don't own Simon and Garfunkel's 'Hello Darkness My Old Friend'. Nor do I really want to. I just felt that the title made sense for this chapter, though *meekly states* Paul Simon is cool.  
  
Author's Note: Bless you! Bless you all for your long wait! Now armed with Coke, aspirin and my Poe CD I am ready to write.  
  
Chapter Five  
  
Hello Darkness My Old Friend  
  
This room is nothing but pitch. Like a dark room of darky doom. I don't know why I find that funny. I guess I could find anything funny at this point with this little creature in my arms; the scent of his hair teasing my bony jointed nose. I'm so near him right now that I can feel the slight prickle of his eyelashes on my cheek when he opens his eyes. I feel soft lips somewhere on my neck, a tongue tracing my pulse that I'm so glad to have right now. I slide my hands up Todd's shirt, trying to pull it off just to feel that silken flesh against mine. I always thought that I wouldn't be a pleasant sex partner, considering the only other person I'd been with I killed. But by the middle of the night when we began I had Todd screaming my name. I still get a lump in my throat thinking of that thin, young, boyish voice raised in such passion. Gentle hands, similar to an arachnid go straight for my belt buckle and I can feel him grin despite the array of kisses I'm placing on his lips....  
  
....Much later in the wee hours of morning, after a night of steamy passionate groping and whatnot between our two heroes....  
  
I left Todd hugging a pillow after telling him where I was going-to get a Brain Freezie. He said something about 'iced ham' before I left, so I figure that's what he wants. The hallway's barely lit, with moths buzzing around the spare lighting. I'm standing on a balcony just observing the parking lot. More light, more moths.  
Somehow cigarette smoke is visible wafting from a white shaft and creeping up a streetlight. Oh yeah....it's not as far away as I thought. My mind's still kind of blown from last night. Oh Todd....  
Under the streetlight a girl stands, smoking her cigarette. My god how I hate smokers. This one's got frizzy red hair, cadaverous features and extremely pale skin. She starts hacking her brains out for a bleak moment but then still takes a healthy suck off the filter of the cigarette. But it's nothing to me-it would be impolite to kill her with Todd so near and no vital lessen to teach. He must have had a D.A.R.E. class or something at that hellhole. So I begin the tremendous march down the stairs, the clacking my boots on the metal must be awaking the entire cemetery down the road.  
Abruptly the smoker turns, staring at me. Perhaps she's one of those undercover cops, who probably thinks I raped Todd. Fuck. I turn sharply around the building not really knowing what else to do. She follows, coughing and sputtering as I lead her around the building. "Wait! It's not what you think, I just need to talk with you!" she cries, bracing herself against the side of the motel.  
I pause, predatorily sizing her up. She would go down quickly; her skinny frame impaled by only the smaller daggers I keep in my boots. I'm halfway further parallel the building, watching her as she bridges our gap. She looks both friendly and devilish with her illuminated red hair.  
"What do you want?" I ask. Something....something is eerily familiar about her. I, Johnny C, killer of countless numbers am getting chills from her. Those etched features....small hooked nose....mighty fuck she even has his acne and height. Meaning she stands a few inches over me. Something in me quails and I think I visibly cringe as she comes nearer.  
"I'm Patricia," she said softly, speaking to my lips so I taste her breath. Burrito. She traces all the sharp crannies of my face, curling longer bits of my hair around her tapered fingers. I feel no attraction to her advances. I'm completely repulsed. Either this bitch wants to be just like me or wants revenge. I'm guessing revenge. "You did it didn't you?" she murmured as if about to take me in her arms.  
"Don't," I say solidly, giving her a hard shove away. She trips over herself and lays splayed before me on the pavement. From my boot I extract a knife that when sheathed blends in as just another silver adornment on the boot. I have about six of those. "You're going down just like him you scum. Eat steel." I rush her, misjudging my own strength as I did with Devi thinking I'll be able to keep her down any amount of time. I manage one good stab to her shoulder before she rolls me over, licking my face and telling me exactly how she's going to kill me and fuck my body afterwards.  
"God damn it no," I growl, shoving the knife through her gaping mouth out the back of her head. I try to pull myself out from under her as she takes out a gun. The first blast shatters my hearing for a moment and I'm numb except for her laughing, despite the knife. I realize with tears of hot pain that it's got me in the stomach. "OH SHIT!" I screech over the pain. I'm sitting here digesting my own goddamn internal organs and bleeding to death. "God damn it you fucking whore to your brother!" I scream yanking two more knives from my shoes and jamming them through her rip cage. This only reveals her smoke-rotted lungs. I'm filled with hot animal adrenaline with the strength to break her bones with my hands as I snap one of her ribs. Patricia slaps my hand away as if I'm unruly child. She's still laughing, now more freely with the knife out of her brain stem. Her hands lethargically go to catch the junks of lungs falling out and I can tell her senses are waning as that part of the brain shuts down.  
But god I wish she would have taken me with her. That's all I'm thinking, sitting here with this horror in my arms. God Todd I'm sorry. I know I'm going to be dead in....an hour tops. I just hope you can take care of yourself-no I know that you can. Damn it I wanted to be there with you! 


End file.
